


You Always Make Me Smile

by superackles



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Related, Comfort, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cutesy, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superackles/pseuds/superackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel. Castiel and Dean. Known to all the members of their little town as being one of the nicest - and strongest - married couples around. It also helps their teenage son, Stiles Stilinski, is a good kid, an honest show of his parents' wish for him to turn out right. And he has. But when he starts getting feelings for a certain someone in his year, is it his parents past he'll have to look to for comfort?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pie and Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> So this is my first supernatural/teen wolf crossover fic and I hope it works as well as I'm hoping it does. I really liked the idea of Dean and Castiel being together and also Stiles finding someone, whilst being family, and I think it works pretty well. I'd love and appreciate reviews and/or constructive criticism, so please don't hesitate to get your opinion to me! This is only the first chapter and there will be many more hopefully. 
> 
> If you'd like my twitter it's @superackles if you'd like to contact me that way, thank you. :) xx
> 
> (This fic is written due to my amazing friend Elizabeth showing me the superwolf tag on tumblr and causing me to thus have a meltdown. BLESS YOU).

Stiles awoke to the air filled with the warming, grease-edged smell of cooking bacon and the first few lines of Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas from out of tune lips making it's way from downstairs. Lifting his head, he eyed the time on the alarm clock blearily, before burrowing his face underneath the pillow. Laters. Precisely a second later in Stiles' sleep-addled brain, thudding steps were heard on the stairs and his door opened.

"Kid, get your skinny ass out of bed and down those stairs or you'll be sleeping under it tomorrow." Said Dean, but the words were softened with a half-smile and were as familier to Stiles as any child's comfort toy. Eyeing his dad with disdain from under a film of fabric, he mumbled something unintelligble and Dean closed the door, chuckling. Stiles considered going back to sleep and making up some half-formed excuse of why he really couldn't attend school that day. After all, Dean was a pretty cool dad like that, accepting his few random days off with a knowing shake of his head and his own reminiscing of rebellious school days spent with the glint of a beer bottle and the miniskirts of the girls that had surrounded him. Stiles' mind rambled on, thinking of all the possible diseases he could use - gonorrhea, impending leprosy, his dick being just TOO big to fit into school trousers - but he knew his other parent wouldn't allow it and anyway, his phone read two messages.

**Scott**

**Don't even think of taking today off and leaving me with Coach. He already blames me for the flying ants incident and the anti-constipation tablets. Get up.**

**Scott**

**Okay it was me who put the anti-constipation tablets in his energy drink. HURRY UP bitchbutt.**

Stiles ran his hand through his hair as he read the messages, smirk twisting at the insult and ignoring the small bubble of happiness that persisted as he imagined the words being read in Scott's voice. Shaking the feeling off (and the reasoning behind his new-found enthusiasm to get to the dull and lifeless routine that was Beacon Hills high school) he found the least-offensive smelling shirt on his floor and his usual pants and slouched downstairs. His hair was unruly today, leaving him to move it from each side every so often, the dark curls stubbornly refusing to co-operate. As he entered the kitchen, he glanced towards his parents, engrossed in what appeared to be a new pie recipe Dean had found on his laptop. Dean lay against Castiel's shoulder, head pressed close to the others contrasting dark brown, playing absent-mindedly with the edges of the trenchcoat that always seemed to cloak him. Castiel's arm hugged Dean's hip, snaking around and pressing him close to his side, with his other hand reaching up every so often to run through his husband's shorter locks. Dean tilted his head back into the others touch as Castiel increased his touch, sighing a little, and Stiles thought it would be a good time for the fridge door to bang loudly.

"The prodigy awakes." Castiel looked around, smiling happily at his son.

"Hey dads." Stiles replied, giving each of them a loose hug (partly to break up the too-intimate-for-a-son's-presence- going on there). He parked himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, practically inhaling the bacon Dean had presented to him.

"Need me to take you to school today, kid?" Dean offered and Stiles nodded gratefully. His jeep had been playing up far too often for him to risk breaking down in the middle of the school parking lot.

"I'll be in the car. Watch you finish that bacon and your hands are spot-free before you even think of stepping into my baby." Dean grumbled, grabbing his keys and heading outside. Stiles concentrated on shovelling up more of his breakfast.

"Got the big lacrosse game coming up next week, Stiles?" Castiel asked him, peering over fleetingly as he focused on finishing up his next client's law suit.

"Yeah, yeah...should be pretty good." He mumbled. "That high school of yours still sticking to that 'no parents' allowed at games rule?" Castiel enquired. "Common sense gone mad."

"Mh-hmm." Stiles answered non-commitally, wiping his mouth quickly with his sleeve and dumping his plate in the sink, before giving his dad a second hug to shut him up and heading outside. It wasn't that his dad would even judge him for being the only near-average lacrosse player in a team of sports geniuses. He just couldn't deal with the restrained disappointment, the slight unease when he discussed sons and their sports achievements with his lawyer workmates. So he avoided all talk of it, making up the banned parent rule in order for his dad to not have to sit there and watch his son hit the bench rather than the puck. In comparison, Scott was one of the best, skillful and brilliant, grudgingly respected by the rest of the team based on talent alone. And he wasn't. Putting his thoughts to rest as much as possible, he climbed into the spacious front seat of Dean's Impala, the cushioned leather playing a cool dance up his back. Dean reached a hand out and lovingly stroked the wheel of his car, before gunning the engine and easing out slowly. Sometimes Stiles questioned what his dad loved more; him and Castiel, pie or the Impala. He headed down the freeway, taking time to glance at his car in every freakin' shop window they passed, before turning into the crowded parking lot of the high school, narrowly squeezing between two of the bright yellow school buses.

"Have a good day, son." Dean clapped a hand on his sons shoulder and watched as he headed towards the oak trees that lined up to the school entrance.

Stiles spotted Scott almost instantly, leaning nonchalantly against a tree bark and his heart literally skipped and stuttered. _What the actual hell was that, Stiles_? He checked himself, giving himself a little shake before heading over to meet him.

"Dude, you actually came! On a Friday!" Scott greeted him.

A tight grey t-shirt was fitted under a black jacket, bunching up the muscles in his arms and accentuating the outlines of the ones at his stomach. Hair more unruly than Stiles' own tumbled down around puppy-dog eyes, a million-dollar smile lighting up approximately the entire parking lot. Or so it seemed to Stiles. _Shut_. _Up_. His subconscious kicked in.

"Yeah dickwad, couldn't leave you with Coach complaining about how you made him sit on the toilet for a week could I?" Stiles returned and they both smirked, heading into the school. Stood by the lockers were a few of their closest friends, Malia, Lydia and Charlie. Each of them stopped their conversation to head over and wish their good lucks for the upcoming lacrosse game. Stiles entered the conversation with ease, marveling at how different each of them were, but how they all just SLAYED. Lydia was effortlessly stylish, a vision of long blonde locks, killer scarlet lips and pure boy frustration. Charlie was much the opposite, curly red hair falling around a well-worn ' _Hermione has brains AND beauty_ ' shirt and her light saber decorated backpack, her pretty expression highlighting the dimples at her cheeks. Then there was Malia, fierce and uncompromising, stood closest to Stiles, hiding her emotion as he recounted what they'd done to Coach, but letting her eyes highlight her amusement all the same. As he finished the story, she actually let a laugh escape her resisting lips, bright and flowing, and rested her arm easily against Stiles, pushing herself against his body as she did so. He looked down in surprise, but let her stay where she was, acknowledging her slightly closer body language of being of no real importance. Smiling more widely, she leaned up to add something to her obvious enjoyment at his story when he felt himself being shoved roughly. Stiles staggered and glanced around in bewilderment at Scott. He was glaring with barely-concealed annoyance at Malia, a black look that left Stiles full of confusion. _The heck_?

"Come on bro, we better get to class." Scott murmured, eyes never leaving Malia's, who's now only signaled being openly pissed off, before shoving Stiles towards the direction of their maths classroom. Stiles shrugged to signal he was just as clueless as her, before continuing.

"What was that all about? Seriously?" He exploded when they were out of ear shot.

"Nothing." Scott barked back, voice tight with tension.

"Cut the crap Scott, she did nothing wrong and you acted like a right asshat to her right then. What's the deal?"

"I said NOTHING, alright? Just leave it." Scott responded, pushing roughly through the door to their classroom and banging the door, leaving Stiles staring forlornly after his retreating back.

* * *

Dean hunched over the stove, adding the final touches to the light pastry before serving it up with a flourish to the serving girl popping gum over the hatch. She winked at Dean, picking up the pie and taking care to move her body as sensually as possible to the table. It didn't seem to matter that he was an obviously happily-married man on the bad side of his thirties, it didn't stop the countless girls he employed to run his little resteraunt from trying to grab his attention every damn time. He smiled wryly to himself and allowed a quick look around his place, the small room making a layer of self-pride and complete happiness apparent. It was tiny yes, filled with random vintage store furniture and yard store bargains, and nothing matched but this was HIS. When he'd left school at 15, a hard lack of qualifications, a continually angry, heavily-disappointed father and only a half basic idea from summers long ago of cooking on a hot stove, he'd felt alone. And annoyed. Annoyed at himself, annoyed at his dad and annoyed at his amazingly clever baby brother, who's place at a prestigious lawyer school in the future was all but guaranteed. Many days had been spent drowning his sorrows in the back of his dad's beat up Impala, watching Sammy hold his dad back and beg him to leave Dean alone. It took a good few years before Dean met a certain Bobby Singer, a serious, grumbly older guy with a heart of pure gold taking over a run-down little cafe downtown, who'd invited him inside with a quick shake of his hand and a chance attempt at his stove. The resteraunt had gone bigger and bigger, Dean's special apple pie becoming well known by the locals and soon Dean knew he had enough to finally feel comfortable being alone. It was funny how things changed. Dean now had his own moderately well-off cafe in a nice little town, a brother who was happily married to his welcoming, truly good-natured wife Jess, a husband who worked even higher than his little brother and a son to watch over like his dad had never done to him. As he wiped the counter down absent-mindedly, he saw a flash of trenchcoat and the bang of a door and knew Cas had arrived, finished with the days work. His ice-cold blue eyes found Dean's and an involuntary shiver went through him, commonplace now even though their marriage had stood for so many years.

"Mr Novak, how can I be of help to you?" He asked teasingly, leaning down so he'd be face to face with Cas.

"Oh I just don't know Winchester. I'm sure you can think of something." Castiel growled, smirking at Dean's heated gaze. He grabbed Dean by the front of his apron and pulled him to him, mouth finding the other's and ignoring the surprised looks from a few of the non-regular diners. Dean's senses were filled with the constant, intoxicating smell of Cas - sweet butterscotch and coffee - whilst Castiel took in Dean's, the pleasant aroma of baked food and the slight edge of the Impala's leather that always seemed to follow him. Their kiss deepened, Castiel biting down a little on the fullness of Dean's lips and when it finally ended, it was with slightly embarassed looks that they glanced around, skin flushed. They both looked up. Grimaced a little. Their eyes found each other again. They were both in the Impala and heading towards the privacy of their home before you could say _apple pie_.  

* * *

Stiles eyed Scott's head and leveled the wad of paper towards the curly mop of hair that was easily the best target. His tongue stuck out a little in concentration. _A little to to the left. Right a bit. There_. Throwing the paper as hard as possible towards his aim, he watched as it _flew...flew...flew..._ straight into the back of Charlie's head, sitting directly behind Scott. She twisted violently round in her seat, lobbing a previously tightly-clutched ruler in his general direction.  _  
_

"Hey turd bucket, can you not throw things at my head like that? It's called trying to HIT ON girls Stiles, not literally HIT THEM." She glared at him, arms crossed in annoyance, whilst Stiles sat a little shame-faced as the rest of the class jeered.

Even so, he noticed Scott take a break from the silent treatment he'd been giving everyone all day and check out the commotion. Meeting Stiles' eyes, he reached an arm down almost unthinkingly to grab the wad of paper that had fallen by his desk and smoothed it out. Slowly, hesitatingly, he nodded towards him in acceptance to his hastily scrawled note of apology and invitation to chill at his house later and Stiles sat happy, guaranteed a night with his best friend again. The final bell rang and they lumbered outside, into the rapidly filling parking lot. Stiles pressed a hand above his eyes to shield his eyes from the sun and analysed the waiting cars.  _No Impala._ He groaned in annoyance, acknowledging his dad's obvious forgetfulness and called Lydia over to request a ride. Normally, he might have waited, but he did not want to miss a single second spent in Scott's company whilst he was still in his good books. They squeezed into the back of Lydia's tiny car, surprisingly neat and tidy for a girl as outgoing and with a as packed social life as Lydia and headed back towards his home. Rap music blared as Lydia chattered away and soon they were back at the house, half deaf and quietly extremely thankful for the short journey from school to Stiles' home. Stiles' opened the door and Scott followed him, throwing their bags onto the kitchen counter. Grabbing an orange juice carton from the fridge and some pie his dad had brought back from the restaurant, he grabbed a chair at the counter and began eating his lunch.

"It's quite disgusting how you eat like that, dude. Has anyone ever told you?" Scott told him, laughing and Stiles' opened his mouth to present his half-chewed food in response, earning a half-hearted 'that's too gross man' from Scott. As the laughter died down, the room turned silent and both were simply staring at each other, Stiles now completely unable to even think of eating another mouthful. Scott reached up, leisurely, heart-stoppingly slow, and brushed a crumb from the side of Stiles' lips, the pad of his thumb resting for just a second too long at the corner of his mouth. The soft pink of Stiles' lips contrasted with the tan of Scott's skin as the lightly skimmed along the plushness there, both now hardly daring to breathe. As he reached the other side, both heard a loud moan coming from upstairs and the moment was broken.  _Oh God. Ohgodgodgod._ Stiles put his head in his hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Scott was smothering his sniggering. Another, longer, moan was heard before Stiles' could make out Dean's ragged voice. 

"Yes, right there, you feel sooooo good." Then, a few minutes later. "Ugh, my angel, carry on. Your mouth feels fucking heavenly, Cas."

The sounds filtered downstairs and Stiles' considered putting his head in a blender. Scott was now full on hysterical, splayed across the kitchen counter as his shoulders heaved with laughter.

"Dean, should I strip to just my trenchcoat or-"

Not being able to take anymore, Stiles grabbed Scott by the arm and pushed him out the door before he could hear his dad finish his sentence. It took a full five minutes of lying on the ground curled into a ball and crying with laughter for Scott to calm down and a full hour before he'd let it go. When Stiles finally considered it safe to re-enter the house, he pushed the door open to see both his dads in the kitchen, looking a little heated but otherwise normal. Dean looked around as he entered. 

"Hey, kid. Where have you been?" He asked, oblivious. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott, silently begging him to remain quiet. 

"Oh we just hung out at Charlie's for a while, watching some Marvel film." He replied, not looking his dad in the eyes. He heard Scott snort from behind him.

"Yeah, it was just a bit too LOUD for Stiles' liking though-" Scott began, earning him a punch in the gut, and he quickly shut up. 

"So yeah..." Stiles continued, to cover up Scott's unwelcome interruption. "Why didn't you pick me up from school today?" 

Dean turned to Castiel, cheeks turning a flaming red colour and gaining an amused smirk from Castiel, before turning shiftily back to Stiles. 

"We..um..we got a bit distracted." He murmured. "With..with.. erm.."

" **Apple pie."** Dean and Castiel responded in unison.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Finding Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cuteness surrounding Cas and Dean's adoption of their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such a lovely response to my first chapter, it meant a lot! As said before, this is an ongoing fic so I will try to update as much as possible, but school and early nights always get in the way, so sorry for the short update! This fic involves the process of adoption, which I don't have much experience from other than Tracy Beaker episodes and Dean's old boys home, so sorry if there is any errors/untruths in the part of the procedure I imagined. 
> 
> Again, sorry for the short update, a longer one will be up either tomorrow or Saturday, and thank you all for reading! :) xx

**20th November 2000**

Scratching his head doubtfully, Dean eyed the building with wariness, ignoring the comforting glances Cas was directing his way. It was a large, squat building, built Victorian-style, with small stained-glass windows and odd rooms jutting seemingly at random from every side. Dean thought it seemed the type of place that saw a lick of paint as often as Cas was seen without his trenchcoat. However, despite its oddities, it seemed a cheerful enough place, with brightly coloured curtains thrown open haphazardly and toys and wellington boots scattered round the entrance, the play sounds of children filling the air. A slightly worse-for-wear sign above the door read 'Angel Adoptions' over the smudged children's hand prints and pencil-crayoned halos. Chancing one worrisome look up at the place again, Dean heard Cas move beside him and his slightly-shaking hands were encased in Cas' warm ones. 

"Dean?" Castiel murmured. "Are you okay? Is...is this okay?" Castiel flicked his eyes up at the building to symbolise his meaning, before flicking his eyes back to Dean's now dropped expression.

"Yeah, Cas, of course it is. It's all we've wanted for months, all these procedures, all these checks, one social worker after the other..." Dean elaborated, his tongue flicking out and sliding along his lips in his nervousness. Castiel learned up to kiss the same nervousness from the mouth he adored so much, before letting Dean continue.

"As I was saying..." Dean carried on, face now a little flushed from the kiss. "I can't wait to meet this kid. I can't wait to get to know him, to see him laugh, to see the films he likes or the vegetables he always spits out no matter how much I tell him otherwise. I can't wait to take him to his first football game, to hold him up as he pretends to slide along the monkey bars, for campfires and den-making, for rides in the Impala and letting him completely wreck my baby, but I won't even care because he'll be MY kid. It's all I've wanted Cas, even before I knew I liked boys and girls, back when I was a dorky child with cut too short hair and a penknife in my back pocket to protect me from the bullies. I've always wanted to be a dad. I just...I don't want to be my dad. I don't want to be another version of him to this kid, Cas."

Castiel understood then. He always understood Dean, better than anyone, better than even himself. He folded his husband into a tight hug, gently kissing his forehead before bending his head into the crook of Dean's neck. Dean hung onto the lapels of Castiel's trenchcoat, finding strength in the familiarity of this action. 

"You listen to me and you listen to me good, Dean Winchester. You are never going to be a copy of your dad. Not here, not now, not ever, do you hear me?" Finally breaking the embrace to place Dean's forehead against his own, his eyes level with his love's own. "You are too bright and wonderful and completely and utterly unaware of your own brilliance, don't you know that? Any child would be lucky to call you dad, Dean. Any. I promise you." 

Eventually, hardly daring to breathe whilst he registered Cas' words, Dean broke into the most radiant, sweet smile Castiel swore the whole world would ever see. It even seemed to make the peeling paint on the windowsills and the weeds creeping out the bricks seem lit in fantastical light. 

"We're going to make such amazing parents, you and I." Dean whispered, brushing his husband's lips tenderly with his, before squeezing Cas' hand happily in his own and proceeding towards the entrance. 

Pressing the intercom, Castiel introduced them both and their scheduled meeting with their future son. A female voice chirped back a reply, before the door was opening and Castiel and Dean were ushered through the threshold. The woman welcoming them was middle-aged, no nonsense-looking, though laugh lines christened her face. Brown hair, now slightly mussed and frazzled, cascaded around her face, a raspberry blowing toddler clamped to her hip. 

"Hey there, it's nice to meet y'all. I'm Ellen." A firm hand was shaken by both of them and their polite replies to her introduction. 

"Would either of you boys like anythin' to eat or drink or shall we just crack on with it?" Castiel and Dean nodded their assent to the latter and followed Ellen out, her stopping to speak to a fair amount of children as they clambered to be paid attention to or to give her affection, into what must be the back garden, a square bit of turf littered with cars and wendy houses and all other manner of things.

At the far end was a large wooden-style bench, where Castiel and Dean could see a small boy was sat, a thick mop of black hair surrounding a small, determined looking face. As Dean and Castiel stepped into the back yard, they saw him glance up, brown eyes regarding them shrewdly, before returning to whatever gadget he was playing with in his lap. Dean took a deep breath, suddenly overcome with emotion, and one feel of Cas' fingers digging into his wrist told him he felt the same. Neither of them took a step, seemingly incapable of movement for a while. 

Ellen eyed them reproachfully, before saying with surprising kindness: "Waiting ain't gonna help nothing you know. Go meet your son." She clapped a hand on their backs, nudging their stony figures forward forcefully. Castiel caught Dean's eyes and nodded, rubbing his thumb as a last comfort along his husband's palm, before they began the plan. They'd both agreed that they'd like to meet him separately, both so the child would feel less anxious or pressured by their combined presence, and also so they could each have individual quality memories of their first interaction with him for each of them to treasure. So it was with a wobbly walk and a pounding heartbeat that Dean started up the garden alone. When he reached the boy, he didn't seem at all inclined to notice Dean, only continuing to play with whatever was in his hand. Dean noticed this and decided to bin the whole 'hey I'm Dean and I'm going to be your new daddy' bull-crap and simply taking a seat a respectful distance away from him on the bench. Looking over, he eyed the toy and noticed it was a tiny Sheriff's car, complete with tiny wheels and miniature criminals in the back seat. He was riding it up and down his denim-shorts clad leg, making the typical 'nee naw nee naw' and 'brum brum' sounds of a child. 

Dean smiled at this, swallowing his nerves for the last time, and began: "Me and my baby brother, Sammy, we used to have little figures like that. Little cars, sheriffs, criminals, animals...all of that. We used to take them into our dad's car and play with them on the dashboard, spent entire weekends making the good guys win and locking the bad guys in the glove compartment. We'd spend hours and hours, acting out adventures and smearing the peanut butter jelly sandwiches we'd stop to make all over the seats. Dad never was pleased afterwards. But it was worth it, so worth it." He finished his speech. The air seemed to turn colder as his words died, waiting upon waiting for a response to his story. Dean began to shift back and forth, worried he'd gone too far, worried he'd began all wrong and bored the poor kid to tears before he'd even got to know him. Just as he was about to give up hope and bury his face in his hands in self-annoyance, he heard a small timid voice pipe up from beside him. 

"Why did you lock them in the glove compartment? I mean surely it would have been easier for the Sheriff to just handcuff them to the windscreen?" Dean looked up to see the kid beside him peering up at him, baby face scrunched into serious consideration. 

Dean considered his words thoughtfully, paying attention to his suggestion before continuing: "Well, I guess it was pretty great for me and Sammy to have an excuse to get peanut butter in as MANY parts of dad's car as possible. Or we just weren't as darn clever as you, kid." Again, there was a pause as the small boy registered his words, before he cracked into a huge grin, gap-toothed smile managing to melt Dean's heart twice over as his face split into a glorious smile in response.

"Yeah, I guess so." The boy giggled, before his face lapsed into a more neutral expression once again and eyeing Dean with the same thoughtful observation as before. "I'm Stiles Stilinski." 

"Dean Winchester." He responded, the leather of his jacket cracking as he lightly shook the kid's hand. They talked for a while longer about Dean's figures, comparing strategies and the badassery of certain figures, before Dean explained that he had another parent wanting to meet him. Stiles shook his hand again, more formally than Dean expected a kid ever would, and he began to amble back to a delighted-looking Cas.  Suddenly, he felt a small hand on his jacket sleeve and looked around.

"Will I see you again soon...Dean?" Stiles asked, desperately trying to mask his hopeful expression. Dean recognised the expression, the one of trying without success to not get your hopes up, to not believe that everything would be okay just for once. He knew then that they hadn't been the first ones to sit by this kid and talk to him like they were really interested, to give him a hope of a future that he couldn't quite be certain he would have.

It took all he had to not wrap Stiles in a massive hug, simply answering with a firm "Soon, I promise" and ruffling the kid's hair. As he passed an excited Castiel on his way to meet his son, Dean made a decision. He would make sure that Stiles always knew that his fathers would ALWAYS act on their promises, if only to never see Stiles' have to hide a happy expression to save being left more heartbroken ever again. 

 


	3. Swimming Touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles ventures to a pool party and finds out how water can't cool just everything down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for the positive response to my last chapter. 
> 
> I decided to focus on Scott and Stiles (aka the Teen Wolf) side to my fic in this chapter, as my last chapter was very focused on Dean and Cas. It might be a little short because I'm writing it late, so I'll either a add part two to this chapter or just include more in the next one. 
> 
> By the way, spot the Mean Girls quote.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :) xx

"Dad, I'm telling you, I can't wear these." Face awash with a mortified expression, Stiles held up the skin-tight, leaving-nothing-to-the-imagination pair of black Speedos up to the light in their bright little kitchen.

"Why? I'm perfectly sure it's what all the youth are wearing these days." Castiel answered, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"For one, even if everyone else did, which they DON'T, I asked you to bring me swimming trunks. TRUNKS, dad. Two, do you really think everyone is going to want me walking round the pool flashing my package all over the place?" Stiles answered heatedly.

Lydia's mother had gone away for the weekend with a new boyfriend on a sun-filled holiday, leaving Lydia to stay at home and focus on her studies. Or rather, studying the numerous boys that would be attending one of her famous parties. The plans had been made weeks ago and now most of the teenage part of the town and a large amount out of it would all be attending Lydia's big pool party. It had taken until the day in question for Stiles to realise this would mean water and therefore he'd require some proper swimming stuff, when all he owned was a pair of Nemo swimming trunks from six years ago. A quick call had been made to Castiel, for something that wouldn't only fit up one leg and even more unfortunately still, Castiel hadn't quite got the picture.

"I'm certain there will be other males wearing similar attire to you, Stiles." Castiel persisted stubbornly. "If you're really so het up about this, just wear your clothes."

"It's a POOL party..." Stiles groaned.

Dean headed into the kitchen, arms surrounding a massive pile of laundry. At the sight of the offensive garb in Stiles' hands, he pretended not to notice, only whistling under his breath and commenting with a chuckle: "Brave, Stiles. So very brave." Stiles flung the clothing in his hands at Dean, who's shoulders were now openly shaking with laughter and strode past a bemused-looking Castiel. As he went to close his door, he heard Castiel tell Dean: "The woman behind the counter said that my teenage son would just LOVE it..."

Stiles slammed his door. 

* * *

 

So it was that an hour later Stiles found himself surrounded by Scott, Malia and Charlie in his Jeep, on the way to the party, with a pair of Speedos so tight they were probably causing a health problem on under his pants. A backwards snapback had been placed on his black curls, a quick suggestion from a very-entertained Dean in order to provide some distraction from his problem. Scott was riding shotgun, fiddling with the radio, his veiny muscle-filled arms providing a much bigger distraction to Stiles.  _Focus on the road._

"I've been killing myself with excitement for this party." Charlie inputted happily. 

"Oh yeah?" Malia questioned. "I didn't take you for the partying type." 

"I'm not. Any chance to see hot chicks in bikinis and I'm down." Charlie positively beamed. 

"I bet you'd drink to that, wouldn't you Stiles?" Malia directed her question at Stiles, long arms resting on the headrest behind him. 

"Mhhmm..." Stiles drawled, only half-hearing her. All his attention was directed towards the man sat beside him, who was now stretching, revealing inches of tantalisingly toned skin and the dark hair leading down below his jeans. Stiles itched to reach down between his legs and kiss along the hip bones edged against the tan there, to feel the hotness of his stomach as his body would lean into Stiles, to press his mouth down the happy trail... He swallowed, hands tightening almost painfully on the steering wheel.  _Fuckfuckfuck._ _  
_

Dissatisfied with his response, Malia twisted herself round the seat, reaching over to remove his snapback. 

"Your hair looks sexy pushed back." She told him, her small hand running gently through the teased hair. As charged up as he was, Stiles accidentally let himself moan quietly in appreciation and Malia eventually sat back. As she did, he noticed her flash a pleased smile at Scott, shaking the fullness of her brown hair. He let himself glance over again and Scott was staring at him, an accusatory look fired his way. Just as Stiles thought it might be best to explain he was simply feeling a bit hot at the time, Charlie leaned over to change the radio, moving to a louder, more poppy channel and breaking the tension with a "WET chicks in bikinis, dude!"

* * *

 

 The party was in full swing as they arrived and moved to greet Lydia, the heavy bass of the music stretching across the back yard. As they reached her, they saw she was already surrounded by a big circle of boys, clustered blonde curls clashing beautifully with her hot pink swimming costume. She screamed delightedly when she saw them, hugging them each clumsily in turn, before pressing red cups full of liquid into their hands and squealing yet more excitedly. Lydia was a fabulously over-the-top drunk, Stiles noted in amusement. 

"My friends, my lovely lovely friends, you're finally here!" Lydia shouted, before half-remembering her manners. "Oh yes, boys, this is Scott, Stiles, Charlie and Malia. People, this is Harley and Dustin and Aaron and Jamie..." She rattled through half of the boys at her side's names, who were all now looking with interest towards them, particularly towards Charlie and Malia, who were both sharing a distinctly disinterested look. Waving a goodbye after another round of forced hugs, they headed towards some loungers to change. Each of them began to strip quickly, eager to be free of their clothes, all except Stiles, who was pulling his shirt off with painful slowness. Scott looked over, who Stiles noticed along with the instant dryness in his throat was now shirtless and clad in blue Calvin Klein swimming trunks, and flashed a smirk. 

"Come on bro, it's not like you to be shy. Hurry up with those clothes." Scott said innocently, unaware of Stiles approaching torment. 

He'd do it quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Maybe he could even run and jump into the pool before everyone could register what he was wearing...

Undoing his belt, he flung off his pants, decidedly not looking down at his clothing. He moved to go towards the swimming pool, before realising nobody was following him. With a grimace, he turned, to see the rest of his group staring with open mouths at his crotch area. _Well, this is the only time people have actually been interested in that part of my body before._ Then, in a loud chorus, they all burst into laughter, their mirth spilling out of covered mouths. 

"I knew those big feet counted for something." 

"If I knew you'd been hiding that in those baggy pants for so long, I would have persuaded you to join the swimming team." 

"Hmm tasty, Stilinski." 

He ignored the comments, his eyes only conscious of one person's reaction. Scott was laughing with the rest, pressing a fist firmly to his mouth to hold it back. Yet he hadn't voiced any retorts. Stiles relaxed.

"Whatever, you dicknuggets are only jealous of this babe magnet anyway." Stiles retorted, winking, before running towards the edge of the empty pool.

As he jumped, he heard the scream of excitement as everyone saw it was time to get this pool party underway, moving themselves from their sun loungers or places by the waters edge to fling themselves into the pool with him. As he surfaced, he shook the hair from his eyes and grabbed the floating snapback, seeing groups of people diving and splashing and throwing their beer around in the blueness of the pool all around him. Looking up, his eyes found Scott's and noticed the new darkness in his eyes as they found his, pupils yearning hungrily and dilated, the hand that was edged roughly into his hair as if he desperately needed something to hang onto. 

"Come on, Scott. What're you waiting for?" Stiles called out, voice deeper as the sound filled his throat. 

With one almost desperate look, Scott sauntered to the edge also, kneeling on the balls of his feet until his face (and most of his crotch) was face to face with Stiles. Their eyes met once again. Stiles felt as if they were in a strange, deliberate little bubble, separate from the crowds that were mere feet away. Beads of water were rapidly drying on the heat of his neck, fairly soaked as he was from everyone's jump. Heart thumping, pretending with all his heart that this was normal bro-code behavior, Stiles ran his finger over the water there, tracing the contours of Scott's Adam's apple and the soft skin down to line of his collarbone. All the way, he imagined his mouth taking the place of his hands, knowing how easily he could caress and tease there, how he would stop as he moved down his throat to kiss the marks and appreciate every last one. He noticed Scott's breath hitch in his throat as their shared look lengthened. Eventually, voice growling and stern, Scott replied delicately: "Oh trust me, Stilinski. I'm coming." 

Then his body joined Stiles' in the chest-high water. 


End file.
